


Patience and time

by Sasha_Yev



Category: Homeland
Genre: 2 years gap, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Season 8, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:29:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24786988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sasha_Yev/pseuds/Sasha_Yev
Summary: The two most powerful warriors are patience and time. - Leon TolstoySome 2-years-gap story about our favorite couple C/Y.Enjoy!
Relationships: Carrie Mathison & Yevgeny Gromov, Carrie/Yevgeny, Yevgeny Gromov / Carrie Mathison
Kudos: 12





	Patience and time

**Author's Note:**

> Alright so this came to me : first fan fic ! English is not my native language (but fluent) and nor is Russian and I used Google Translate! Sorry to all the Russians out there ! 
> 
> Bonne lecture!

Moscow – 2022 – Yevgeny’s penthouse

_It was Sunday morning. Carrie was sipping her tea, reading Tolstoy’s “War and Peace” curled up on the couch of the penthouse. Yevgeny was in the shower, having just returned from his daily run outside._

The doorbell rang.

She put Tolstoy down and as she was about to get up from the couch: she saw him emerged from his room, barely dried off and for only attire… a towel low around his hips.

He rushed to the door, throwing “I’ll get it” in the general direction of her. She sat back down, curious as to what was about to unfold before her.

At the door, he greeted all smiles and charms, a petite woman, blond hair, high-heel boots and leather Perfecto. The woman looked him up and down – in all his 1.93m glory – before blushing a deep crimson red. He invited her in. She followed him in, eyeing Carrie suspiciously still sitting on the couch and stopped at the kitchen island – where she produced a thick envelop from her bag.

Unsure, she started off “ _Миров сказал, что ... что вы хотели бы его просмотреть, и ...*_ “. She was probably an intern at the GRU or a cadet of some sort …

_* “Mirov said that … that you would like to review it, and …”_

Short, cold and obviously cutting her off, as per usual self: “ _да_ **”. He took the file from her and started flipping through the pages. The woman was quiet, observing him – as he leant on his elbows on the counter, hips out… still only clad with a damn towel. He leans great. Of course. Droplets of water were falling on the file. He didn’t care.

_** “Yes”_

He took a pen, huffed in frustration, crossed a few things on the page and finally said : “ _Нет, скажи Мирову, я не позволю ей пройти через это с Якушиным и его приспешниками. Мы договорились. Я не подписываю это. Мы поговорим в понедельник.***_ ”

_*** “No, tell Mirov, I’m not putting her through this with Yakushin and his henchmen. We had a deal. I’m not signing off on this. We’ll talk on Monday.”_

The petite woman, taken aback, started babbling some more in Russian: she could only decipher some pronouns “she”, “her” … a word “resident permit”. In her broken Russian, she understood that that the order had to go out today, Yakushin was extremely persistent. Abruptly, Yevgeny put an end to the conversation, saying something along the line (she thinks): “ _Оставлять. Сейчас же****_ ”.

_**** “Leave. Now”._

Unphased, he didn’t even guide his guest back to the door and he returned nonchalantly to his room, probably to resume his interrupted shower.

“What was that?”

“What was what?” Of course, she thought.

“What did she want?” She pressed.

Carrie followed after him, not wanting to let go of the subject. Call it a gut feeling, she knew her Russian was not perfect but she picked up on some words that left restless, full of doubts.

Unaware (or not) that Carrie followed him into his room and with his back to her: Yevgeny dropped his towel, revealing his muscular backside to her, flashing her in the process.

“Jesus, Yevgeny!” Carrie shouted – not looking away all the same.

“What ? Like you’ve never seen a dick before!”

She was shocked momentarily, taken back to all those years ago after the Gettysburg ambush, where Quinn was shot and pulled the same shit on her, flashing her, disrobing himself of his hospital gown. Those cocky bastards. All the same.

Yevgeny smirked. He knew she was looking, of course. He continued sifting through his drawers for a boxer, pulled one on and continued “Yakushin wants to debrief you again. He is threatening to withhold your resident permit if you don’t go through it…again”

The fuck? Carrie was frustrated, exasperated, angry even. She had gone through dozens of “interviews” with different sections and Directorates of the GRU, SVR and other Russian government agencies whose acronym she couldn’t even remember. She was done. Yevgeny was on the other hand imperturbable: his attire now consisted of solely a pair of jeans and he was rummaging his room for his belt, cursing under his breath, as he couldn’t locate it.

“Fuck me ! Again? I thought _they_ said – _YOU_ said - they were done with me …. What the fuck? Yevgeny, fuck you. You lied. I want you to t… ”

Interrupting her: “What did you just say?” Yevgeny finally turned around and looked at her.

“What?” Clearly taken aback by his tone.

“Repeat what you just said”? He asked in a low voice… almost menacing.

Unsure where this was heading, she repeated herself – curse words-free this time: “I thought, you said I was done, no more interviews or interrogations or debrief.”

“No. Before.” Cold, harsh tone laced with something else… something she couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“I … what?” Carrie was startled.

Something shifted in Yevgeny’s mind, like all the gates opened with these two simple words. All animalistic and masculine lust, he would feel towards her. Yevgeny pressed: “You said … something … and then I quote “Again? I thought they said …”

At that point Carrie was blushing. Arms crossed against her chest. She turned around, not wanting to face him and whatever his mind had conjured up. She turned, looking out the window.

In the past year, she had rebuilt herself: she slept, she ate, she took her medications, she was in a good place… but fuck, she was a woman after all. And yes, the occasional moment of pleasuring herself left her wanting more but Yevgeny always respected her space, always seemed so distant when it came to her physically. She was in a need of a good fuck but she was never gonna admit it … least of all, to him.

Yevgeny approached her, from behind. She couldn’t see him but she sensed him: he radiated lust, masculine power, passion … devotion, maybe? He put a hand on her shoulder, the other one on her hip. Not innocent, but always the gentleman.

Low, in his husky voice and thick Russian accent: “Carrie… what do YOU want?”

He continued whispering in her ear, his beard gently scratching the skin of her elbow: “I said no, Carrie. I won’t put you through that again. I’ll find a way. But you have to trust me. I…” he stopped. Thinking about what he was going to say next “But for now… I want you to tell me what is it you want me to do.”

She bit her lip from answering… or moaning or both. “Do you want me to … make love to you… sweetly and tenderly …or…” wetting his lips “Do you want me to … as you so eloquently put it: fuck you … rough and animalistic?”

With that last sentence, his hand that was resting on her hip applied just enough pressure on her, to pull her back to him. She could feel him – _ALL_ of him. Chest naked, breathing rapidly, ready.

She was biting her lip, enough to draw blood – arms still crossed against her chest. For what? Protection? Hell, she didn’t even know.

Out of breath, like she just ran a marathon, she moaned: “Fuck me”

With that, something finally … finally ! - snapped within him, all decency and gentleness of the past year were gone. He was pure passion, lust and hunger for her. He grunted in her ear. The hand that was resting on her hip, slowly descended on her belly, past her yoga pants and in her panties. In 10 seconds flat, he had her panting, moaning and throwing her head back on his chest. His hand was relentless against her, working her clockwise, anti-clockwise. A man with a plan, on a mission. He wanted her pliant and in post-orgasmic bliss, before taking her.

She moaned his name, sending shockwaves right through his dick, nested in between her butt cheeks, in the confined of his jeans. She came hard and loud, her legs giving out and almost falling over, if it weren’t for his other arm around a torso, holding her to him.

He turned her around, lifted her like she weighted nothing and dropped her unceremoniously on his bed. All blond hair and rosy cheek. Her lips were parted and he hadn’t even kissed them yet.

He removed his jeans; her yoga pants and she took off her top. Going _sans_ bra, on Sunday morning … his pupils dilated at the sight of her. Before joining her, he went to his drawer, producing the coveted belt – he was looking for earlier. Of course, in that moment, he had no problem finding it. She gulped.

He lied on top of her, stretching so she couldn’t move under him. And finally, finally he kissed her. Like there was no tomorrow, no Monday, no Yakushin, no SVR. Belt in hand, he took her wrists and gently put her arms up, to his bedframe. Fastening the belt around the frame and her wrists. She was speechless: tying her up to his own bed… she did not expect THAT for her first time with him… but was silently thanking all the gods, for his troubled passionate mind at that moment.

“Tell me if it is too tight” in his husky voice. The gentleman returns. She shook her head no, not trusting herself to speak. He returned to her lips, kissing her with all his strength. His erection in his boxer, prominent in between them. He took off his boxers single-handedly. Kissing her lips, her neck, scratching his beard on her torso, her breast – finding her nipples with his mouth and teeth. She writhed, unable to form a coherent thought. He descended lower, a smirk on his face. He knew his beard was her weakness, scratchy yet soft. Licking her folds, her clit and just letting his face roam in between her thighs was her complete undoing and he knew it. She came. Hard and fast. Delirious. For the second time this Sunday.

He didn’t waste any time, went up, hand blindly searching for protection in his night stand, rolling on the condom. He penetrated her. She hadn’t even come down from her high just yet. She shouted his name. Fuck. That would be his undoing, he was sure of that. Her arms were still tied to the bedframe, she couldn’t touch him, couldn’t trick him, manipulate him: she was at his mercy and he was loving it. He took her legs, put them both on his shoulders, on either side of his face. With the added angle, he plunged into her with deep strokes. “Yevgeny… oh god, so close…” Carrie trembled beneath him.

His hand snaked in between her legs, finding her clit, to help her on the verge of her orgasm … and there, she came for the third time on this Sunday morning. Sundays were rapidly becoming her favorite day, she thought.

She trembled and moaned his name over and over. Her third orgasm more powerful that the first two, as he was still within her, all hard and hot. And right now, not moving an inch - just enjoying the show. He smirked. The bastard. Letting her legs down, he kissed her and unfastened his belt, massaging her wrists …ever the gentleman, even after the mind-blowing fuck he just gave her. He pulled out of her, grabbing her hips, flipping her with such full force that she found herself out of breath. 

He penetrated her doggy style. Chanting her name “ _Carrie, Carrie… о боже да*****_ ” His hands were gripping her so tight, she would have bruises tomorrow. He was relentless. He was having none of it. It was pure lust, animal instinct. Yevgeny the planner was long gone … she moaned and laughed, thinking about what he said to her back then, in Kohat: “Me, I’m more of a planner”. Fuck … that wasn’t planning.

_***** “Oh god yes”_

He was so close now. His movements were chaotic, slowly losing control of the rhythm. His dick, as hard as it could be, pounded into her. She was taking it, enjoying it: she would be sore tomorrow and for the following week, but she didn’t care.

He slowed down his movements and one of his hand applied pressure on her spine, silently telling her to lie on her stomach. Her arms gave out, she collapsed and he followed suit, leaning against her back. Still inside her. She was pinned under him. His weight adding the extra stimulation and friction. He started plunging into her, with just rapid and small movements of his hips and dick. One his hand gripped hers, white knuckles against white knuckles, while the other snaked under their bodies, finding her clit. It was much gentler, kind of intimate. In a gruff voice, full of love, he started whispering sweet nothings in Russian in her ear, biting it, his beard scratching the most sensitive spot on her neck.

Finally, he grunted her name in her ear … followed by the pet name he sometimes uses: “Carrie, baby”. He came, shaking violently, grunting. Resting all his weight on her. Hand never stopping stimulating her – till for the fourth time today, she came. Not even bothering to try to stay quiet, shouting his name in the pillow: “Fuck…. Yevgeny, oh god, oh my fucking god. Jesus”.

He withdrew himself. Laid a kiss on top of her spine. And finally said “See, patience and time”. Smiling, completely sated, she answered: “Quoting Tolstoy after sex, must be a Russian thing …” He laughed good-heartedly.

xxx


End file.
